


The End is Nigh

by twistedrunes



Series: George [24]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Deception, F/M, Gen, Guns, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other, Power Plays, Smut, Threats, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-20 02:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17013792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrunes/pseuds/twistedrunes
Summary: “Good morning Anna.” Peggy greets you as you enter the reception area, she has a brave smile fixed in place, but it does little to hide the red-rims of her eyes.“Morning Peggy.” You say your gaze falling on the floral wreath on the counter.“It just arrived,” Peggy says noticing the direction of your gaze. “It must be for John’s funeral, but it was delivered here. The boy insisted he was told to deliver it here, to you, and not Small Heath.”“What does the card say?” You ask.“What card?” Peggy replies.You pluck the small envelope from amongst the white roses and open it. ‘St Marks. 11:30 am.’ There is nothing else. You resist the temptation to swear.





	The End is Nigh

“You ready to head back?” Johnny Dogs asks as he closes the door on the gun vault in the cellars of Alea House.

 You turn the key, and tug the handle to make sure the door is secure, then drop the key in your pocket. Your heart leaps as it clunks against the jewellery box still there from earlier. “No thanks, Johnny. I’m staying here during all of this.” You reply, working hard to keep your voice even and level.

“An’ Tommy knows ya staying ‘ere does ‘e?” Johnny asks cautiously.

“Yes Johnny, he knows.” You assure him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder “I’m not a Shelby or even related to a Shelby, I’m safe. Those Mafia boys aren’t interested in me.”

Johnny regards you sceptically, but gives a small nod in acknowledgement “Right then, as long as ‘e knows.”

You smile and walk Johnny to the back door, waving him goodbye before heading back inside. Making your way slowly through each floor and room of Alea House. Checking in with each of the staff, telling them where you will be if there are any problems. Finally, you make your way towards your office.

Isaiah and Peggy are at reception when you arrive. Peggy’s eyes are puffy and red. She runs towards you and throws her arms around you, quickly breaking down into tears again. You share a drink with her and Isaiah exchanging news before you are alone in your office. You pour another drink and sit at your desk, pulling the jewellery box, ticket and key from your pocket. You set them on the desk and close your eyes. In the quiet your brain immediately travels back over the past two days, spending the night at Tommy’s, the attack on Michael and John, Alfie, Changretta. All swirling in your head. You’d known as soon as you heard of the shooting that the current plan for New Year’s Eve could no longer go ahead. You pour another large drink and pick up the phone.

“Good afternoon, The Barbican Hotel” A bright voice answers.

You shake your head, it was afternoon already. “Good afternoon. I’d like to speak to one of your guests.”

“Of course ma’am who would you like to speak to?”

“Monsieur Pas.”

“And your name?”

“Hunter. Miss Hunter.”  You drum your nails on the desk while you wait for the call to connect.

“I’m sorry Miss Hunter, it seems Monsieur Pas isn’t available at the moment. May I take a message?”

“Um,” you pause, trying to word a message he would understand. “Yes, please. Could you please tell him that Miss Hunter called from Alea Manor. Unfortunately, due to a bereavement, we are cancelling the fireworks at our New Year’s celebrations, and I was calling to see if he would like me to organise some other form of entertainment for his guests. Thank you.”

\----------------

It’s late, Peggy and Isaiah long gone when there is a light knock at your door. You’re fatigued and looking forward to a few hours’ sleep tonight before the funeral tomorrow. You curse internally, no-one would knock if there wasn’t a problem. “Abraham?” You call. Alfie’s men’s had assumed all security positions at Alea Manor after the shooting when all the Blinders were called back to Small Heath. Alfie had assigned Abraham to you personally. Abraham had been one of Goliath’s sparring partners and close friend, and while it pained you to see him, he was kind and good at his job and was smart enough to let you do yours un-hindered. He wasn’t quite as big as Goliath but was still a formidable presence.

“There’s a Monsieur Pas here to see you,” Abraham says.

_Fuck._

“Yeah, bring him up, please.” You say trying to keep your voice even. Heart pounding, mind suddenly intensely focused and muscles primed you stand. You move quickly to the coat rack, pulling on your holster and a jacket to cover it. You check the gun is loaded before checking your appearance and refreshing your lipstick.

There is another single knock on the door. You open it with a fake smile frozen on your face. “Monsieur Pas, what a pleasant surprise.” You say holding out your hand to Changretta. He takes your hand in his and turns it so he can kiss the back of it.

“A pleasure.” He drawls.

Repressing the desire to shudder, you look over his head. Abraham meets your gaze waiting for your instruction spoken or otherwise, you give a small shake of your head and look from one of Changretta’s goons to the other. Abraham nods in understanding, assuming an ‘at ease’ stance with his arms folded over his chest. Changretta straightens, and you stand aside and motion him into the room. Changretta steps forwards and his two guards go to follow. “Sorry boys, only room for two. Pop down to the bar and the girls will look after you. Abraham will show you.” You say nodding your head in the direction of the bar.

The goons look past you to Changretta. He nods and gives them instruction in Italian. The men remain where they are but turn their backs to the door. Abraham stands facing them staring through them as if they were part of the wallpaper. Satisfied you close the door and return to your side of the desk. “Drink?” You ask holding up a decanter of gin.

“Anything but that shit,” Changretta says. You set the decanter down with a shrug. “Compliments of the season. I see you received my gift.”

You set the glass of whiskey in front of Changretta. “Fortunately, it was me that found it and not the houseful of Blinders I had this morning.” You say evenly, pushing them across the table. “I can’t accept.”

“No, I insist,” Changretta says pushing the items back towards you. “You would do well in New York, you should consider it. And, of course, you would be well looked after.” He adds tipping his glass towards you before taking a sip.

Folding your hands in front of you, you ignore the gifts. “I don’t need looking after Mr Changretta. Now I’m sure you didn’t come here just to check on your gifts, what can I do to help you this evening?”

“I got your message. I have to say I’m disappointed.” Luca’s drawls.

“Disappointed? What did you expect?” You exclaim, unable to hold your tongue.

“I expected that I would have the pleasure of killing the Shelby’s myself,” Luca replies coldly.

“Then you should have gone to John’s yourself instead of sending your goons.” You shoot back.

“It wasn’t you?” Changretta asks, forehead furrowing as he lets the surprise show.

“If it were me they’d both be dead.” You respond icily. “Michael was very clear, Italians.” You jab your finger into the blotter for emphasis.

“Cazzo!” Changretta spits as he leaps to his feet. You bring your hand to your gun. He turns on his heel and opens the door. Rapid instructions fire from his tongue. One of the guards replies before he nods once and leaves his post.

Changretta returns to his seat, and you regard him with an arched brow. “You assured Mr Solomons’ and myself professionalism Mr Changretta. You told us you belong to an organisation of a different dimension. Now I see, perhaps, you mislead us.” You mimic his pattern of speech.

“The order did not come from me,” Changretta says leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence.

“That doesn’t reassure me.” You reply flatly. “A lack of discipline on the part of your men endangers me. I am deep in the hornets’ nest if there is even a whisper of my disloyalty I will be dead. No warning, no black hand, just the honour of a bullet in the back of my head.”

“They were not my men,” Changretta says removing the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at you.

“They were Italians.” You shrug, “I suggest you find out who’s actually giving the orders here Mr Changretta before it ruins our plans.” You stand. “You need to resolve the issue and come up with a new plan.”

Changretta stands, gaze icy, “I would be cautious if I were you. A woman, such as yourself, in a business such as this, times like these, accidents happen.” He traces a line down from his eye to his cheek, “Who would cry for you?”

You smirk, tracing your finger along the scar on your cheek. “No one Mr Changretta. I have no one to avenge me. But I warn you, that means I have to avenge myself. Something I’ve been doing for a while now, my father, the men who took me as payment for my father’s debts, Sabini. All of them, what is it your people say? Sleeping with the fishes?”

Changretta sucks his teeth and tilts his head at you “Maybe the Jew is correct,”

“Speaking of the Jew.” you cut off whatever insult he was brewing up, “Next time you come through him,” Changretta mutters under his breath and rolls his toothpick across his lips again before turning and opening the door. “Mr Changretta.” You say lowly. Changretta turns to face you. “The Shelby’s, they have eye’s everywhere. Fucking come here again, and I will shoot you on sight. So go back to London, sort out your shit and have Alfie call me with the new plan.” You conclude.

Changretta mutters again and spits in your general direction. In a heartbeat, Abraham has knocked Changretta’s remaining guard out and has his gun pressed to Changretta’s temple. You hold your hand up, and Abraham removes the gun but doesn’t re-holster it. “It’s alright Abraham, Monsieur Pas is just leaving, would you be as kind as to help his men to their car?” Abraham spreads an enormous hand over Changretta’s man’s back fisting his jacket in his hand and lifts the man's head from the floor and before dragging him towards the stairs. He waves his gun towards Changretta indicating he should follow.

“I’ll be seeing you soon doll,” Changretta says pressing a kiss into the tips of his index and middle fingers.

“I look forward to it.” You say after him. You watch until the group of Alfie’s men join Abraham at the top of the stairs. Back in the office, you sit heavily in your chair, snatching your drink from where it lay untouched you knock it back in one mouthful. Standing again your eyes fall on the gifts Changretta had left. You snatch them up and throw them in your top drawer.

\----------------

_Running as hard as you can you try to maintain the distance between you and the Thing behind you. Black and formless and emitting a high pitched squeal, all you know is you need to get away. There had been a clear path moments ago, now there was nothing, just a wall of dead and dying vegetation. The screeching gets louder, rattling in your brain and confusing your senses. You plunge forwards, headlong into the branches that tear at your clothes and scratch your skin. Lifting your arms to protect your face you stumble onwards._

_Suddenly you are free. Dropping your arms you look around trying to orientate yourself, a barren field lays before you. The ground has been farrowed and crows circle overhead. You can feel the Thing behind you, again you run. The noise reaching deep into your guts and twisting them.  Looking over your shoulder to gauge the distance between you, you trip. Flying forward before ploughing your face into the friable earth. Your mouth fills with it, choking you push yourself up._

_All around you, the earth is moving, like a pot of simmering water, seething just below the surface. You watch with growing horror as hands push-up through the soil. Stained red and black they emerge grasping around them for something to latch onto. You scream as fingers scrabble against your legs, clawing at your flesh and pulling you down._

“Fuck!” you gasp as you sit bolt upright in bed. On your side table, both the alarm and phone are ringing. It’s almost deafening. You lift the receiver from the phone as you bash the alarm. You take a deep breath in the following moment of silence before lifting the receiver to your ear and speaking into the mouthpiece. “Hello?”

“Anna!!” Alfie’s voice booms down the line. “I thought I must have missed you.”

“No, I just woke up. What time is it?” You ask, still trying to get your brain to function.

“Ten thirty. You ‘right love?” All the verbosity is gone from Alfie’s voice, and you can almost feel his warm hand on your back.

“Fuck.” You choke, fighting back the tears.

“Anna?”

“I’m fine Alfie, I just overslept.” You attempt to placate him.

“Yeah, don’t fuckin’ bullshit me ‘right.”

You sigh “I’m just tired, I had a late night and then a nightmare. Plus I need to get ready for the funeral.”

“It’ll be over soon sweetie. How about you come up to London for a day or two yeah?” Alfie offers. You are about to decline when Alfie continues. “You can stay at the house, see your niece, catch-up with old friends.” Suddenly it’s clear, he’s spoken to Changretta, and you need to meet.

“That sounds good Alfie. I’ve got the funeral today and then a meeting in Small Heath tomorrow. I should be up there tomorrow evening sometime. I’ll call from the station before I get on the train.”

“Perfect. See you then.” Alfie agrees.

You hesitate before you ring off, “Alfie?”

“Mm?”

“Hannah’s not my niece, you don’t have to do that.”

“Fuck off. She is if I say she is, right, plus Selene agrees. You’ll not get away from us that easily love. Part of the family aren’t ya?”

Your throat tightens, and you close your eyes. “See you soon Alfie.”

“Ta-ra Aunty Anna. Keep your head down love, stay safe ‘ey.”

“Bye.” You say before you hang up. You lay back in bed for a moment, blinking the tears away.  _It will be over soon_  you remind yourself as your feet hit the floor.

“Good morning Anna.” Peggy greets you as you enter the reception area, she has a brave smile fixed in place, but it does little to hide the red-rims of her eyes.

“Morning Peggy.” You say your gaze falling on the floral wreath on the counter.

“It just arrived,” Peggy says noticing the direction of your gaze. “It must be for John’s funeral, but it was delivered here. The boy insisted he was told to deliver it here, to you, and not Small Heath.”

“What did the card say?” You ask.

“What card?” Peggy replies.

You pluck the small envelope from amongst the white roses and open it. ‘St Marks. 11:30 am.’ There is nothing else. You resist the temptation to swear. “I’ll take it with me.” You tell Peggy lightly. “I’ll be in Small Heath today and tomorrow, and then I’m going to London overnight. Abraham will stay here with you, not safe for a stranger like him in Small Heath at the moment, he’ll look after you.”

Peggy opens her mouth to argue, but seeing the look on your face, she thinks better of it. “See you soon.”

“Call the betting shop or Alfie’s if you need me. They’ll be able to reach me.” You say picking up the wreath and turning to leave.

Peggy’s hand grasps as your arm preventing you from leaving. You turn back to face her. “Everything’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” Peggy implores you, her face is simultaneously filled with fear and hope.

Placing your hand over hers, you squeeze it gently. “It will all be over soon.” You assure her.

\----------------

The church is quiet and still. Christmas decorations, holly and candles, are still present throughout the hall. However, there is not a soul to be seen. As you entered the church, you had caught sight of a flurry of robes disappearing out the back door. You check your watch and finger the handgun in your pocket, your eyes sweeping the room. Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself to stay calm. You glance at your watch, eleven-thirty on the dot. The sound of footsteps come from the back of the church.

A large man, in a double-breasted suit and a trilby hat, walks towards you. You can’t help but smirk as you recognise him. The handsie oaf from your meeting with Alfie and Changretta, you drop your eyes to his neck and curl your lip into a cruel smile at the pink raised flesh where you had cut him during your last encounter.

“Hey, doll! Miss me?” You greet him cheerfully, your voice sounding far too loud in the reverent silence. The oaf says nothing, settling on glaring menacingly. You hold your arm out in front of you, index finger raised. “That’s close enough, you won’t be touching me today.” The goon continues towards you. “Uh-uh, Mr Solomons’ is not here to protect you today.” You say. He grunts stops and unconsciously rubs his neck. “I’m armed, and I’m not giving it up.” You say clearly, removing your hand from your pocket and showing him the gun.

He shakes his head with another grunt and steps closer. You lift your arm and aim the gun at the middle of his forehead. He pulls his gun on you. You glare at each other silently until another set of footsteps echo through the church. Fast and light the steps are definitely female.

A small woman, with a dark lace scarf over her head, pauses at the altar, genuflects and crosses herself. She hisses at the goon, and he lowers his gun. “Let the whore keep her gun.”

The woman meets your gaze with an arched eyebrow, you lower your gun, but don’t put it away. “And who are you to call me a whore?” You challenge.

“I am Mrs Changretta, Luca’s mother.” She says haughtily, “and you are the Shelby whore.” She concludes with venom.

You smirk and shrug “Your son is the only one paying me for services rendered Mrs Changretta.”

Mrs Changretta’s eyes blaze “Best you keep that in mind, you are nothing more than hired help. No matter what trinkets he dazzles you with.”

“Mrs Changretta, I can assure you I’m not easily dazzled.” you cut her off bluntly. “I have a busy day, as I’m sure you are aware, so would appreciate you being brief and to the point. What do you want?”

She pauses, eyes roving over you seemingly sizing you up. “When this is done, and my son leaves for New York, lose your ticket.” She says coldly.

You look at the goon over the top of Mrs Changretta’s head wondering to which Changretta his loyalty lay. He was from New York, so you suspected Luca, but you couldn’t be sure. Dropping your eyes back to Mrs Changretta’s you lick your lips before replying. “And what if I feel like a trip to New York?”

“These nighttime visit’s he makes to you, leaving once the deed is done, you are a fool to think you will ever be anything but a whore to him. I have organised a bride for him upon his return to New York. She is a good Italian girl, from the old country. I will bless the union, the Don will bless the union. It is done.”

You laugh coldly, wondering if it is worth correcting her or if her mistake can be used to your advantage.

Mrs Changretta scowls at you before opening her purse and removing a large envelope. “Ten thousand pounds to stay away from my son. We have important work to do when we return to New York.”

Taking the envelope from her hand, you place it in your coat pocket before ducking your head and whispering so the goon cannot hear. “Just between you and me, I never have nor do I intend to fuck your son. Our arrangement is simple, the Shelby’s die and I get Alea House. I will not be going to New York.” You straighten grinning and patting the pocket with the envelope in it.

A begrudging smile forms on Mrs Changretta’s lips. “You know, the men, they call you Ira di Dio. The wrath of God.”

“So I’m told.” You reply disinterestedly.

Mrs Changretta fixes you with her steely gaze. “Funny isn’t it how men mistake the traits they admire in other men as supernatural when they see them in a woman.” She pauses, and you shrug again. She steps closer. “But really women are more suited to wrath, to vengeance. Men tend to be more, sentimental.”

As you watch her, a coldness grips your stomach. Whispering again so the goon can’t hear you, you move your mouth next to her ear. You can smell her perfume. “It was you. You ordered the hit on John.” You pull back to look at her face to gauge her reaction. She shrugs the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she steps closer again and you lift your gun to her side, pressing it against her ribs. “Because you thought Luca would hesitate? That he might spare John as John spared you?” You hold her eye, not looking up when you hear the click of the goon’s gun being cocked behind her.

She smiles and runs her gloved finger along your jaw, her face twisted in a cruel smile. “It’s why we have you. You will do what needs to be done to avenge your love, and Thomas will pause. Not for long I’m sure, but long enough.”

\---------------

You walk as quickly as you can in heels across the field to the caravan, noting the firewood and branches packed around it. You glance at it for only a moment as you reach the edge of the group of mourners. You duck your head in silent greeting as you pass Tommy, Arthur and Reverend Jesus. You notice Arthur’s hands are stained red, his eyes slightly wild. You look to Tommy to try and work out what has happened. Tommy’s tongue slides between his lips, pulling the bottom one between his teeth as his eyes meet yours. Your stomach jolts under his gaze as he searches your face. His hand moves slightly from his side, reaching towards you.

“Tommy, can I have a word?” Johnny Dogs says from behind you.

Tommy’s fist clenches for a moment as he kisses his teeth. Looking past you to Johnny he dismisses him. “Later Johnny, ‘ey?” Then turns his back on both of you and tells the Reverend to begin.

You find a place between Finn and Polly, Daisy and the baby aren’t there. Finn notices you looking around “Better they stay home, too cold for the baby.” He says simply. You nod and squeeze his hand gently. Finn holds onto your hand and turns slightly to face you. “It’s going to be alright, isn’t it? Tommy has a plan?” He asks quietly, his face a mirror fof Peggy’s.

“It will all be over soon.” You tell him.

“Brothers and sisters,” The Reverend says, bringing silence to the congregation.

Finn nods, smiles weakly and retakes his place beside you. He doesn’t release your hand.

The Reverend begins a hymn, his deep rich tone joined quickly with Polly’s clear voice, Linda and Arthur join soon after, Finn too. Not knowing the hymn or the words you remain mute. As the song concludes and the melody is snatched away by the wind, the Reverend begins the service in earnest.   

Shamefully you aren’t able to concentrate on the proceedings, fatigue testing your resolve and apprehension tensing your muscles. As Tommy begins to speak, you feel a new wave of tension. He tells of a day in France, the day they were meant to die, talking about all that had come since. The second life. As he speaks, Johnny, Charlie and Curly touch torches to the kindling surrounding the caravan, as the blaze grows and the flames begin to catch on the caravan you close your eyes, trying not to think about John, wondering where Esme was now and how the children were adjusting.

The second life, is that what you were on now? Or was it your third, fourth? How many times had you slipped through death’s clutches since you’d woken on the floor of your childhood home, dragged yourself through the gutters and alleys, and scraped an existence in the ditches? How many times since you joined the Shelby’s? How many lives had you had? How many were left?

The sound of gunfire rips you back to the present, you duck down, dragging Polly and Finn down with you. Hissing at them to stay down, you draw your gun and begin crawling towards the gunfire. Tommy hasn’t moved or even ducked his head.

He takes a few steps towards you “It’s alright everyone, everything is under control.” He places his hand under your arm. “Just some local Italians chancing their luck. We knew they were coming, we have men handling it. Everyone is safe.” He concludes drawing you up to your feet. He doesn’t even glance at you before turning away.  

The gathering disintegrates, Linda storms off and Ada chases after her. Tommy and Arthur are in huddled conversation. Polly spits curses at Tommy for dishonouring his brother’s funeral. Amongst the commotion you leave. You have a shipment of guns to look over before the meeting tomorrow. When you reach the car, you look back. You see Johnny Dogs approaching Tommy and being sent away again with a shake of Tommy’s head.

\---------------

“Miss Hunter.” The Blinder whose name you can’t remember opens the door to the factory for you.

“Thank you. Do you have the key?” You ask.

The Blinder holds out a key. “Do you want me to come with you? Carry that?” He nods to the small suitcase you were carrying which contained your tools and some work clothes.

You shake your head, “No. You stay here. I need to change, I’ll use Tommy’s office. ”

“Miss.” The man nods.

 

“Anna? You in here?” Curly’s gentle tone calls out across the room.

“I’m here, down the back.” You call back sticking your hand up over your head and waving it. It’s the first time you’ve looked up since you entered the workshop. The peace and quiet of the empty factory combined with the familiar rhythm of cleaning and checking the guns giving you a few hours of peace.

“’Allo Anna.” Curly says as he picks his way through the crates. As you come into view, he pauses for a moment, looking you over from head to toe, jacket, shirt, pants and work boots. “George?”

“Either is fine Curly, but I’ll be George tomorrow for the meeting with the Golds, yeah?” You say kindly.

Curly simply nods.  

“George.” Charlie greets you as he too comes into view. “What do you think?” He says nodding at the crates.

“Yeah, they seem fine. All clean, mechanisms are smooth.” You reply, and Charlie nods. “You taking these to the shop?”

“Hmm.” Charlie grunts affirmatively. “Got boys here to load the truck when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, just this box to go.” You say motioning to the crate on your workbench.

Charlie sticks his head out the door and shouts “Right boys! Come on now, get the lead out. Don’t want to be here all fuckin’ day!”

You return to your work, quickly finishing off the crate in time for it to be loaded with the last of the boxes. As the men load it, you lean back against the wall, exhaling slowly and allowing your eyes to close for a moment.

“You want me to take you somewhere?” Curly offers kindly.

“No, thank you. I have my car.”

“Right we’ll be off then. See you tomorrow, George.” Charlie says, ushering Curly from the room.

You wave goodbye from the factory door, before trudging upstairs.

 Closing the door to Tommy’s office, you rub your hands over your face and cross the room to the desk to help yourself to a cigarette. Dragging deeply you pour yourself a whiskey and collapse onto the lounge, carefully avoiding your dress which was hanging over the arm. You hang your head back, eyes closing as you breathe deeply. The room smells of Tommy.

Feeling safe and surprisingly warm, the fire had been lit at sometime today and only required the addition of one piece of timber before the flames came to life again. You toy with the idea of just curling up for a nap. Mocking yourself for your weakness, you push the thought from your mind. Busying it instead with mentally checking and rechecking the plans for tomorrow. But fatigue has you firmly in her grasp, you seem unable to hold a thought for more than a moment at a time. Your mind begins to wander, back to the funeral. What would happen when you died? A funeral with friends and loved ones like Goliath or John? Not likely. A pauper’s grave with no mourners? Perhaps. A bullet in the back of your head and an unmarked grave? Probably.

Unexpectedly your eyes fill with tears, one escapes and races towards your hairline, you catch it with your index finger. With a shake of your head, you stand, crushing out the cigarette and placing the empty glass on the side table. You curse yourself for being sentimental. This was not the time nor the place. You wipe your face crossly before tossing your jacket on the table, adding the armbands on top and pushing your boots off with your toes. You hang your holster over the back of a chair, rolling your shoulders enjoying the relief from its weight before you make quick work of the buttons on your shirt.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs make you freeze. No-one should be here, other than the Blinders on guard. With the blinds closed for privacy, you can’t see who it is. Heart in your throat you realise you didn’t lock the door. Recognising it’s too late, you pull your gun from your holster and step around the table positioning yourself and raising the gun at head height. The footsteps pause outside the door, the handle twisting slowly. The barrel of a gun pushes the door open. Your index finger moves from the guard to the trigger of your gun. The brim of a cap casts the face below it in shadow, your finger begins to flex. The brim lifts, the light from the office immediately revealing sharp cheekbones and stark blue eyes.  

“Fuck!” You huff in unison, both lowering your guns.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asks, re-holstering his gun before he closes the door.

“The guns for tomorrow.” You say putting your gun on the table and self-consciously gripping the edges of the shirt together between your breasts.

“They finished?” Tommy says putting his cap on the hat rack by the door.

“Yeah. Curly and Charlie and some of the boys are taking them back to the betting shop for the morning.”

As you speak Tommy moves closer, until you’re standing toe to toe, Tommy’s finger stroking over an exposed patch of skin on your abdomen. “Why are you in here?” He asks quietly.

Your breath catches, “I needed to change. No ladies toilets.”

The corner of Tommy’s mouth twitches in amusement. You meet his gaze as his palm slides under the shirt and onto your waist. “Do you make a habit of greeting men with a gun and your shirt open, or just me?” He brings his other hand to your neck, running his fingers down the edge of the fabric, his hand closing over yours where it grips the fabric tightly. He pulls you closer, eyes searching your face. “You’ve been crying.” He says cupping your cheeks in his hands and brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“Not really.” 

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asks quietly as his hands glide down your neck to your shoulders.

“Just sentimental I guess.” You smile weakly.

“You sure that’s all?” He asks before he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is tender but brief. “Everything alright at Alea Manor? You only just made it to the funeral.” Tommy’s question is asked evenly and the comment made without rebuke. “I was worried,” Tommy concludes pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You lift your face to watch his. “Why? What’s happened?”

Tommy sighs and lets you go, walking to his desk he removes his jacket and hangs on the back of the chair, he drops his collar and tie on the work surface as he lights a cigarette and takes the first few drags. While Tommy undresses, you do up the buttons on your shirt. He plucks a piece of tobacco from his lip and drops it in the ashtray before he speaks again. “Early this morning the Birmingham branch of the wire cutters union called a strike to protest the pay disparity between male workers here and female workers in one of our other factories.” Tommy pauses, as he pours a glass of whiskey and takes a sip before continuing. “While the factory was being emptied someone unlocked the back door.” Tommy takes another mouthful of his drink before taking his glass and the decanter to the lounge. “Entering through that door, two men employed by Mr Changretta, entered the factory and attempted to kill Arthur.” Tommy refills your glass as he speaks handing it to you and nodding towards the lounge indicating you should sit next to him. You move your dress to the table before you sit, Tommy carries on with the story. “While those men were attempting to kill Arthur a third party entered my office and removed all the bullets from my gun.”

“What? Why?” You manage to splutter.

“At 11:30 this morning I had a meeting with a Monsieur Pas from France,” Tommy says hanging his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Who is, in fact, a Mr Luca Changretta from New York.” Tommy finishes the sentence with a slight growl as he empties his lungs of smoke.

“Fuck,” You whisper your heart pounding.

Tommy’s head snaps up and turns to face you. “What?” He demands.

You take a sip of your drink and steal the cigarette from between Tommy’s fingers, taking a deep drag before handing it back. “Last night Luca Changretta came to Alea Manor to confront me about cancelling the plan for New Year’s Eve.” You pause, and Tommy nods for you to continue. “He accused me of organising the hit on John. I convinced him that it wasn’t me and told him that Michael had said it was Italians. He denies any knowledge.”

“And?” Tommy prompts when you pause.

“And, this morning before I left, a funeral wreath was delivered to Alea Manor, for me.” You feel Tommy stiffen next to you. “Attached was a card instructing me to be at St. Marks’ Church at eleven-thirty.”

“Tell me you didn’t go,” Tommy says quietly.

“I did.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Tommy explodes slamming his hand down on the arm of the lounge. He turns on you, and you find your voice is stuck in your throat. You shake your head desperately and slide away from him. Tommy’s eyes close for a moment before he speaks again, “Who did you meet?”

“Mrs Changretta.” You say quietly, your gaze fixed firmly on the glass you were resting on your knee.

“What did she want?” Tommy asks clearly trying to hold his temper.

“Well, now I would say she wanted to make sure I was nowhere near you or this factory. But at the time she said she wanted me to refuse Changretta’s offer to take me to New York.”

Tommy tosses back the rest of his drink, standing and turning away from you to refill his glass. “New York?” He barely manages to get the word out.

“On Boxing Day when I went home to collect my weapons and clothes, there was a gift for me on my kitchen table. No card or note. Just a jewellery box with a tennis bracelet and a first class ticket to New York.”

Tommy turns and looks down on you, blue eyes clear and bright. “He wants you to be with him?” He asks simply.

You stand up and place your hand on Tommy’s chest “I don’t know.” You admit. “He wants to ruin you, to take everything you have.”

“I know, he told me,” Tommy says quietly.

“Maybe he thinks I’m part of that.” You offer. “I haven’t given him any reason to think I’m interested in him, I mean I haven’t,” You can’t say the words and can feel tears filling your eyes again.

Tommy’s eyes close as he meets yours, instantly reaching out and wrapping his arms around you. “Shush,” He assures you bringing his hand to the back of your head guiding your cheek to his chest before sliding his hand down your neck caressing it with his fingertips.

As you press against him, your fingers gripping tightly to the sides of his waistcoat, you whisper “He could have killed you, Tommy.”

Tommy kisses the top of your head. “No, you’re right, he wants me to suffer. We agreed, no children, no civilians. So Finn and Charlie and you are safe.”

“Safe?” You challenge, as you pull back and meet his eye unable to help a half smile. “I’m not a civilian. There’s no such thing as safe for people like us Tommy. Ever. There’s only not in danger right now.” Tommy’s eye’s flash and he looks up at the ceiling, his jaw setting. You bring your hand to his cheek, bringing his eyes back to yours.

Tommy holds your gaze, arms wrapping around you tighter. You can see he wants to argue the point with you, to tell you, you’ll be safe. But he knows it’s a lie and can’t bring himself to do it.

“It was her.” You whisper into Tommy’s chest.

“What?” Tommy asks ducking his head to hear you.

“It was Mrs Changretta that ordered the hit on John on Christmas day. She thought Luca might spare him because he spared her. She said men tend to get sentimental. She said that’s why they have me because I’ll make you pause.”

You feel Tommy’s chest expand as he takes a deep breath, “I would.” He sighs into your hair. You clutch at him tighter, lifting yourself up to press your lips to his. “Stay with me tonight,” Tommy says as he breaks the kiss.

You shake your head, already pulling away slightly “I can’t Tommy. I need to be at the shop to look after the guns. It’s the easiest way for me to blend into the other Blinders in the morning. Leaving with all of them. Plus there’s no room for me, with Mary and Charlie your place is already full.”

“There’s room in my bed,” Tommy suggests, resting his forehead against yours.

“How would you know?” You ask taking his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing along his cheekbones, the pads caressing the dark circles under his eyes. “Have you slept?”

Tommy shrugs and shakes his head, as a soft, guilty smile forms on his lips “You?”

“Here and there. A few hours last night.” You assure him as you place your hands over his and unwrap his arms from you “You should rest now, here, I’ll keep watch.” You offer, guiding him back to the couch. As he sits you pour a glass of whiskey and light another cigarette, handing both to Tommy. Tommy attempts to catch your hand as you turn away, but you pull it free easily, looking back over your shoulder. “I need to change.”

Plucking your dress from the arm of the lounge you cross the room and hang it over the back of one of the chairs surrounding the table with your jacket on it. You undo your shirt buttons and the buttons on your pants and go to lower them, but pause looking back at Tommy again. Tommy nods and sinks down further in the chair taking a mouthful of whiskey. “Go on then.” He says huskily.

“Tommy.” You say in exasperation. “Can you close your eyes?”

A smirk forms around his cigarette as Tommy’s eyes close incredibly slowly. You roll your eyes at his games. But, assured he’s not watching you turn away and slide the pants off your hips. They crumple around your ankles, and you pause for a moment adjusting the garter belt, suspenders and stockings that you hadn’t bothered to remove when you changed before. Satisfied everything was correct you duck down to collect the pants. Looking behind you Tommy meets your eye. “Will you please stop looking?” You cry, using one hand to ensure the tail of your shirt is covering your behind and snatching the pants off the floor with the other. You toss the pants on the table before looking back towards Tommy crossly.

He’s no longer on the lounge but standing behind you. His hand sliding over your hip and pressing against your stomach before he pulls you against him. “I can, but I won’t.” His voice is deep and hungry, the growl reverberating through his chest into your back. You can feel his need pressing against your ass. His free hand lifts your chin and holds you in place while he lays claim to your mouth. Not loosening his grip until you relax against him. He presses kisses along your jaw, his breath is hot on your ear. “We can’t waste a moment.” He insists, kissing your neck as his hand slides from your stomach down over your underwear.

The warmth of his hand makes you shudder. His name falls from your lips, and he grinds against you. Your teeth press into your lower lip as you rock your hips. Tommy’s fingers glide against the gusset of your panties, the satin adding a delicacy to his demanding touch. You dig your fingers into his thigh as you try desperately to stay on your feet. “Tommy,” you gasp, managing, just barely, to step away, turning to face him. Tommy grabs your hips in his hands, fingers digging deeply into your ass, pulling you back against him harshly. You fall against him, unable to stay steady on your feet.

“Careful,” Tommy says softly guiding you back towards the lounge. As the backs of your legs press against the coolness of the leather, you push his holster from his shoulders. Tommy catches it as it falls down his arms and drops it on the side table. It is followed by a flurry of clothing, you sit on the lounge as Tommy slides the suspenders off his shoulders, and you quickly unbutton his trousers. Eagerly pushing both trousers and boxers to the floor while Tommy removes this shirt, undershirt, shoes and socks.

Before you can touch him, Tommy is lifting your feet onto the lounge and laying you back against the arm.  You sit up slightly to remove your shirt. “Leave it on.” Tommy groans. Again you reach out for him desperate for contact. Tommy’s head drops back as your hand wraps around his shaft, cursing under his breath as you glide your hand along his length. After a moment, Tommy’s eyes open, surveying your body closely before he brushes his fingertips down your chest. You arch your back wantonly and feel a thrill as Tommy’s eyes dilate. His hand travels lower, your stomach twitching under the touch. “Remove your panties.” He instructs his voice deceptively calm. Releasing him you quickly undo the clips on your stockings and slip your fingers under the silk to roll them down. “No,” Tommy says, cupping you with his hand, “just the panties.” Your hips lift as if of their own accord desperate for more. Before you have the chance to do anything else Tommy grabs your panties and rips them down your legs, dropping them on top of the pile of clothing. His hand returning to cup you again before you fully realise what’s going on.

Squirming you take hold of his free hand, pulling him towards you. “Tommy,” you sigh.

Tommy hesitates; he wants this, needs it as badly as he once needed opium. For the same reason, to block out the pain of the world and to leave him warm, fuzzy and disconnected. But he also wants more, he wants the comfort of you with him, unlike the hangover of opium which drew him further into himself, made him believe there was no hope or reason to go on, you give him those things and more, peace, understanding and acceptance. “Mm,” he hums.

“Tommy, please.” You whimper needing him close to you, wondering where he has gone in his head.  Tommy places his hand above your head on the arm of the chair, growling approvingly as you open your legs to him. He positions himself between your thighs. You press back, whimpering as you feel his heat pressed against you. Tommy’s arms wrap around you as he kisses you again. His tongue breaches your mouth, and you moan with the feeling of him. “Tommy,” You mumble against his lips, fingers clutching at his ass and pulling him against you.

Tommy adjusts himself slightly, gliding into you, like a hand into a silk glove. Your foreheads come together, and your breath merges as your bodies do. Tommy’s mouth falls to your neck as your hands glide over his back. His hips roll slowly, the wave of pleasure driving your fingers into his hair, tugging on it as the sensations threaten to overwhelm you. “Is this what you needed?” Tommy’s voice is tight and airy against your ear, causing your body to clench around him. Tommy moans in response and increases his thrusts slightly.

The two of you melt into each other, breathing and moving as one. Both losing yourselves in the warm embrace of the other.

“Tommy!!” Arthur’s bark follows immediately after the sound of the door crashing open violently.

You reach up and pull the blanket down off the back of the lounge in a desperate attempt to try to cover you both.

“Fuck off Arthur!” Tommy yells back, looking over his shoulder at his brother.

“This is more important than you fucking some whore.” Arthur spits.

Tommy’s face darkens, and he stands, pausing to ensure the blanket is covering you. “She’s not a fucking whore,” Tommy says coldly.

Seeing your face, Arthur’s face crumples “No, no, no. Fucking no!” He moans turning away from you, as he turns back, he pulls his gun from its holster and points it at you. “No,” he repeats, his attention turning to Tommy “Fuckin’ why her? Of all the fuckin’ women you had to fuck her!”

“Arthur put the gun down,” Tommy says calmly taking a step towards him, either unaware or uncaring about the fact he's naked.

“Just fuckin’ listen to me, brother. For once just fuckin’ listen.” Arthur begs, plunging his free hand into his coat pocket.

“Arthur,” Tommy says as calmly as he can, moving closer to Arthur and reaching for his arm carefully. “Arthur, look at me. Put the gun down and let’s talk about it.” Tommy nearly manages to take the gun, but Arthur snatches his arm away violently.

“No! Tommy! She’s fuckin’ betrayed us. She’s fucking sold us out to the Mafia! To Changretta!”

“No,” Tommy begins glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Johnny saw, Tommy.” Arthur continues “Fucking saw her meet Mrs Changretta at St Mark’s before the funeral. Fucking found this,” He pulls a jewellers box and crumpled piece of paper from his pocket tossing them in your direction. “Fucking ticket to New York, Tommy. Fucking jewellery, Tommy.”

Tommy reaches again for Arthur’s gun, and Arthur lashes out at him, sending Tommy stumbling backwards and landing heavily on his ass on the floor.

Arthur turns his full attention and the gun on you again. “Why?” He demands as tears begin to flow. “Why? Fuckin’ loved you like a sister, like a brother. A fuckin’ brother in arms, you were. Would have fuckin’ died for you. Why?” He wails, contorting himself as he tries to contain his agony.

He looks from his brother to you, pointing the gun at your head and straightening. His jaw set as he cocks the weapon. 

“Arthur.” You begin finally being able to form a thought. You sit up slightly. “It’s not,”  

Arthur cocks the gun, he hesitates for a moment. “No!” Arthur screams. The word is obliterated by the bang of the gun.

The ringing in your ears and the acrid smell of charred paper helps you realise you are not dead. The room is silent for a moment as you turn your head and look up at the smoking hole in the wall.

The sound of flesh striking flesh violently draws your attention back. You open your eyes and find Arthur on his back on the floor with Tommy straddling him. Punching him again and again and yelling incoherently. Arthur’s gun lays under the table, apparently lost in the initial onslaught. Arthur is trying his best to shield himself from the blows while sobbing, that he had to do it. 

“Stop!” You yell at Tommy. He shows no sign he’s heard you or of stopping his onslaught of his brother. Wrapping the blanket around yourself, you hurry to where the men are on the floor. “Stop!” You cry again, but Tommy continues. Arthur’s bleeding from his nose and mouth, and he’s already getting a black eye. You launch yourself at Tommy, knocking him off Arthur and onto his back with you on top of him. “Tommy Stop!” You insist. Tommy quickly flips you on your back straddling you with his arm raised. You brace yourself for the strike, turning your head and closing your eyes.

The strike doesn’t come. Instead, Tommy begins clawing at the blanket checking you over. “Tommy stop.” You cry again. “I’m fine he missed.” Tommy sits back, looking at you for a moment before collapsing against you.

“No, Tommy.” Arthur sobs quietly.

Tommy’s face is buried in your chest, so you physically feel the force of his cry “She’s with us, you fucking idiot. She’s working for us, against Changretta.”

Arthur rolls onto his side, his arms wrapped around his head as he begins sobbing in earnest. Tommy’s eyes close, and he presses his forehead against yours before sliding off you and reaching for his pants. He puts them on and stands, plucking yours from the table and handing them to you. You’re decent in seconds. As soon as you are you crawl towards Arthur and wrap your arms around him. “It’s going to be okay Arthur.” You assure him gently. “It will all be over soon”

**Author's Note:**

> That's all there is so far friends, I hope to have some more written soon.


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